


And for mercy I begged

by bluebats



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Batfamily Drama (DCU), Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne Makes Mistakes, Bruce Wayne is Trying, Depressed Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson-centric, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Dick Grayson, Medical Trauma, Past Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne - Freeform, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebats/pseuds/bluebats
Summary: Dick was bleeding out; helplessly and unsure of what came next, he begged one more time for someone to open him the door--Batman, Alfred, whoever was on the other side of the camera--but he was just a beggar in a world, in which he had lost his place.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Clark Kent, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 21
Kudos: 195





	And for mercy I begged

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Still Called Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26301445) by [sElkieNight60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/pseuds/sElkieNight60). 



> This piece of fiction wouldn't exist without Selkie’s previous work. Check her fics, she writes great content🌸  
> As for me, I'm not a native English speaker, so be nice, I'm trying.  
> I do this for fun.

This had to be one of the most nightmarish days of his meaningless existence. 

First, his captain had assigned him this terrible case. Dick didn’t want to believe the worst but it felt like she had assigned it to him, hoping that he would fail. He should have seen it coming, really. They knew he had been raised but a millionaire and what kind of rich kid chose to be a detective? Low payment, terrible reputation and frankly, people were right, he didn’t like cops either. He was working as one just to help clean the system. And yes, a part of him wanted to prove to Bruce that he was wrong, that one could fight crime inside the police system.

Oh, boy, he had been infinite wrong. The system was heavily corrupted and ate the few clean cops its had. And that was exactly what it was happening to him. They knew that Dick was difficult to corrupt.

First, they thought he didn’t need the money, though he actually did. He wasn’t taking a single penny from Bruce.

Second, the Wayne family had connections to get whatever they wanted, what could a local mob boss possibly offer to him that he couldn’t get with other means?

Third, Dick had a perfectly clean track record. He had impeccable grades from his high school days, he had volunteered to a countless list of programs that assisted the homeless and old people. He had been a member of the gym team, chess team, debate team and basketball team. And unlike Bruce, Dick didn’t have a playboy reputation, he was considered to be rather shy. He wasn’t that shy, he had been raised as a performer, but Bruce chose to protect him from the voracious media and maybe that was one of Bruce’s decisions that Dick could be truly grateful for. 

Fourth but not least important, Dick was exceptionally trained by the Bat. The Police Academy was no challenge for him. He graduated with the greatest marks of all his generation, nationally. Dick had been so proud when he got his final grades, he had wanted to call his dad—Bruce and tell him how excited he was. He wanted to make him proud, he wanted to show him his medals and prove to Bruce that he had been right when he took him in. He wanted—whatever he wanted didn’t matter to Bruce anyway. 

The point was that it was unlikely for someone with his background to turn to the dark side. He had his morals well set and he didn’t need extra help in cash. It was good that nobody knew how fucked how he really was. He hadn’t heard a word from Bruce since a year ago and Bruce had blocked him from all his credit cards and Wayne’s luxury medical insurance. 

Petty, his father figure was petty when he was mad. They both said things they didn’t mean, like father like son. Both were stubborn, sharp with their words and had anger management issues, they had such similar character that it made up for the lack of blood bond.

The never-ending brawls they had didn’t help with his poor mental health. Dick had been battling clinical depression and PTSD for far too long. The secret was that he was an expert at hiding it from others, not even the tests in the Police Academy caught him. He was so good at pretending he was well that he was basically a threat for himself.

So Dick left Gotham before he was fully consumed by the darkness of its damned streets, the ones he wandered in a disguise that was consuming him. 

"A monster, you’ve become a monster," he said to himself many nights as he cleaned the blood from his Robin suit. 

One year and counting, Detroit was his choice. It was far from Gotham and San Francisco, it apparels that neither Batman nor the Titans could haunt his memories here. Although his brain wasn’t that forgiven, bestowing him unwanted flashbacks from his past and painful nightmares at night. 

"You will heal with time, you have to give the process its time. It’s different for everyone, so take your time, Dick Grayson," his therapist used to say. He missed her but he couldn’t pay the sessions anymore, not if he wanted to buy his meds. 

Dick didn’t consider himself a spoiled brat, the training Bruce put him through had been inhumane, no brat kid would have survived a day with the Batman. Apart from that, he had had a privilege than a few had, his da—mentor was a billionaire. 

And God, there were days in which Dick wished that he had taken the easy path. He could have had it all. He could have gone to an Ivy college, he would have studied Law and Economics and then, he would have been Wayne Enterprises’ CEO. The perfect career for a scarless body and honest smile. Everything Dick wasn’t at all, not anymore.

Nevertheless, Dick was the same type of insane that Bruce was, which led both of them to live atypical lives. Even as Dick tried to stay far away from Batman and his ways, there would be a Bat philosophy that would always reside in his heart. And perhaps, that was the reason why he had ended up falling into a trap by his own will.

The nonsensical henchmen thought they had him. _"_ _Please, bitch, I got y’all,"_ Dick thought for his insides as he remained calm, blindfolded and cuffed, sitting in a chair. Nothing new for a Robin, except that he wasn’t wearing his Robin suit and he didn’t have his advanced tech with him. 

"What did you find?" Someone asked. Dick was going to call him Goon One.

"This fucking caught the hook, he’s the one who’s been tracking us, blocked our last coke trip to Central City," Goon Two said and punched Dick in the face for dramatic effect. 

Dick grunted and took note to hit this one harder after he had gathered all the information he needed and it was time leave.

"Motherfucker clown," Goon One said, Dick was one hundred per cent sure that he was talking to him, "you have guts to come here alone," he slapped Dick and yeah, the fun part was about to begin. 

"I invited myself in since you guys were so enthusiastic selling drugs to teenagers, I figured it out I might as well join the party," Dick laughed with the confidence he had when he was wearing his Robin suit. 

"Fuckin’ joker," and Dick really wanted to make a remark that he was from Gotham and last time he checked, he wasn’t the Joker but no, these goons wouldn’t understand his sense of humour. Besides, they were too busy using him as a punching bag to listen to him.

"Enough!" Apparently, another Goon intervened, one that had been perpetually silent as Dick hadn’t noticed his presence. "Pretty boy is a new detective in town," Goon Three took off the blindfold and oh no, this wasn’t a goon. He was wearing a tailored suit and expensive gloves, this one had to be in charge of the operations.

"We haven’t officially met, Mr Grayson but allow me to do the honours," the grandiloquence of this pretentious moron reminded Dick of Two-Face and Black Mask, and they were not good references in his book of archenemies. "My men called me Finnegan and I run this operation for the Maroni family, and in their name, we will be pleased to pull you out of business," Finnegan touched his knee, _fuck, no, not my knee._ This wasn’t going to good places, it was time to execute his escape. 

"You see, Mr Grayson, we buy the cops silence with a generous salary but your stunts against my men caused us losses that you had to pay," and yes, the breaking leg part was coming and it was time for Dick to say goodbye to these unfriendly folks. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Finnegan," Dick grinned and let the cuffs fell on the ground. It was tiring to pretend that they were still working. 

The escape was comical, so easy. Dick knocked down Mr Finnegan with one hand, businessman doing dirty business were the quickest one to fall. As for the goons, they were slightly fun, but they didn’t stand a chance against Dick’s expert bat—skills. Dick almost fell sorry for them, the keyword was _almost_. 

"Grayson out," Dick said jumping out of the stale warehouse from a high window. He missed this so much that almost said Robin out. But no, he wasn’t Robin anymore and he wasn’t Bruce’s sidekick either. He was just Dick Grayson, paving his way as a detective against organized crime. 

It was all going well according to the plan. Efficiently and too good to last. Dick didn’t bring his car with him and he had left his phone in his apartment. This was supposed to be a quick encounter for him to get acquainted with the underground faces of the local mafia. However, destiny had other plans for him. As he ran through the pavement, fifteen minutes away—running fast—from the downtown, Dick got shot. 

It was a bad shot, the goon wasn’t even that good but Dick was in the open and the goon took his advantage. 

"Okay, Grayson, think," he told himself as he covered the wound with his hand. He wasn’t bleeding that much, all he had to do was to find a safe space. 

Running wasn’t a good option anymore, he was going to hurt himself but stealing a bike and cycling wasn’t a good idea either. "Damn it," lesson learned, Dick wouldn’t underestimate Detroit’s goons anymore and maybe, just maybe, he would wear his Robin suit next time. But for now, he would take the bike and pray he doesn’t faint before arriving at the safe house. And once he got better, he would return the bike to its owner, alright. 

Just ten more minutes and he would make it. Dick had memorized the location of the two safe houses Bruce had in Detroit. They were nice and comfy, apparently, just two apartments bought by an eccentric rich man, but actually they were designed to assist them in case they were injured or needed to hide. 

Dick was going to make it, he knew it, he just was two quarters away from the safe house, only two. It was all going to be well—Another shot, someone has the guts to follow him and he shot him for the second time in the night. 

This time he was mad, he wanted so badly to have his bat explosives to hurt this goon. "Focus, focus, bleeding," Dick talked to himself to keep himself from fainting and crashing. 

Somewhere along the two last quarters, the goon fell behind. The goon could shot but he wasn’t a runner. It wasn’t a time to make a joke but Dick wished he had the energy to do so.

Dick made it to the safe house, gracelessly pushing himself to move along the bike. He couldn’t leave it outside with his blood as evidence. And damn his desensitized senses, his shirt and jeans were splashed in blood and he hadn’t even been seated of much he was losing. 

"No panic at the disco, Dick, remember? We don’t panic at the disco," Dick patted his shoulder as Bru—Batman would have done if he were there to remind him that panicking was useless in missions.

"Alrighty, Dick, just remember the code and..." Dick pushed the buttons of the numerical combination for the safe houses and waited for the machine to scan his eyes. "Easy, peasy," Dick chuckled, he might be bleeding but he could keep his spirits high to ignore the pain. 

"Fuck," Dick said as his vision failed and his body suffered a wave of heat. He fell to his knees, but it was fine, he could deal with this. It was a normal effect of blood loss, he could wait for the green light to give him access and then—

"Access denied," the computer voice let him know, highlighting the words in red. 

"What the? No," it had to be a mistake, Dick probably pushed the wrong buttons. "Stupid," his tunnel vision wasn’t helping but he could remember the combination, he just had to make sure to push the right buttons. 

"Six — Nine — Zero — Zero — Two — Eight, alright," Dick opened his eyes wider for the scanning. It was a huge effort when all he wanted to do was to lay down and sleep. 

"Access denied," the computer and repeated.

"No, no, no," Dick knew what was happening and no, he wasn’t going to admit it. He tried, again and again, to get access through the code, until the computer assumed he was a hacker and it shut down.

"No, fuck no, Bruce?" Dick looked at the camera. Bruce was so obsessive that Dick was sure that the man would have gotten an alert of a break-in by now. 

"Are you there? Bruce, it’s me, Dick Grayson, your—whatever, help, gun shoot," he had a terrible timing for his brain to stop forming coherent thoughts. 

This was bad. It was late, two in the morning, and he was bleeding out without a phone and without access to a safe house. This was—

"What the fuck, Bruce? Why? Why?" Dick wanted to crush the damn door and get inside and call Bruce and tell him that he was a bastard. What was he thinking? Did he think—did he dare to think that Dick would betray him? Did he seriously think that Dick would cause his safe houses any harm? Did he think so little of him? Had he forgotten that Dick was Robin, his loyal sidekick?

"Bruce, please," Dick hit the door with his weak hand to emphasize what he was asking for, just in case Bruce didn’t understand that Dick wasn’t exaggerating.

"B, two wound shots," he explained because Bruce’s eyes were desensitized at the sight of pools of blood. "Not phone, can’t call anyone."

Bad, Dick was falling asleep. "B?" Dick saw the system to restart, "B? Is that you? Holy Bats!" Dick let himself lay in the floor, once Bruce opened the door, he would crawl inside as he didn’t have enough force to walk anymore. 

"Thanks," Dick smiled weakly, he was going to be fine, he was going to be safe and—

"Red Alert, Intruder," Dick was confused, did they follow him to the safe house? He looked around but there wasn’t no one, "intruder?" He looked back at the camera as the realization hit him. "Oh, it’s me, the intruder."

Laughing maniacally in the face of death wasn’t a good sign, however, give it to a Grayson to find the fun in such a tragic end. The laughing, indeed, made him bleed out faster but Dick was beyond caring. 

"Intruder," and at that point, Dick was a mess of tears and dark laughing that would have scared the Joker. 

"Intruder," Dick closed his eyes and let himself fall in the pool of blood. He wasn’t going to make it to the hospital and Bruce wasn’t going to open the door, so he might as well cry himself to death.

He couldn’t think clearly anymore, his mind was foggy and his limbs were numb, there was no much to do besides accepting that Bruce was blind by rage and hatred and he was okay, watching him died alone, instead of helping. 

And no, Dick didn’t want to think how it felt that your life was worthless to the person you loved the most, he didn’t want to think how he was convulsing in physical pain that wasn’t even nearly as hurtful as the thought of his dad abandoning him without remorse.

"DAD!" Dick cried out like a child, he cried out as he did the night his parents were shot. "Dad, no, I’m sorry," Dick curled in himself as his lungs stung and his heartbeat slowly gave up, beat by beat.

"Dad..." no, Bruce had forgotten him as he forgot all the nights they spent together fighting, side by side, protecting each other’s backs. He had forgotten the many times Robin had rescued as Batman and Bruce Wayne. He had forgotten that Dick would do anything to save him, he would have died for him, he had forgotten him.

"Mom, dad," but if this was the end, Mary and John, his birth parents, they—The movement of Dick’s lips halted like the numbness of the lifeless. And he couldn’t open his eyes either, his eyelids had decided it was time to immerse in a deep sleep with no return and—

_"Mom, Dad, did I make you proud?"_

"Dick, I’m here," that one could be his mom talking but it sounded a lot like... Clark? It made sense, Clark was good, he was as good as the old heroes from the Golden Age, the good ones would welcome him to the afterlife.

_"Mom, Dad, I’m coming home... just a little bit longer."_

"Stay with me, buddy," Clark’s voice said.   
_  
Stay? No, I’m going home..._ Dick listened to his heart beating, slower and slower, _home_ , and then he heard nothing.   
  


* * *

  
Another cloudy day in Gotham, temperature 57 F and loud noise that could be heard in the distance. Bruce went on with his daily activities in automatic. As the owner of Wayne Enterprises, he had a pile of papers to review, authorize and sign before the working day was over. 

Bruce sighed gazing the accumulated pile of papers he hadn’t reviewed from last week, it was a lot to catch up. 

He didn’t have much time these days, the city was unforgiven with Batman’s time and his new protégée. It used to be easier—when _he_ was here—but he didn’t talk about it, not even with Alfred. Dick was—undoubtedly he was his son, but he was his partner too. They worked together as Batman and Robin, but Dick helped him with the company too. He could trust him with tasks that required his intelligence but also were top secret. Nobody else could replace the amount of help he gave him, Alfred was one man and he covered a lot but it was unfair to ask him to do his job and what Dick used to do. 

As for Jason, he was just a kid. Bruce’s stomach clinched thinking how young, small and skinny Jason had been when he took him in. He had grown up in the last year but Bruce couldn’t forget the image of the small kid who stole his tires in Crime Alley. 

_"Just a kid, and yet no as young as_ — _"_

Bruce had a myriad of regrets, most of them rooted in the hostile way he had raised Dick. He was trying very hard to not be the same arrogant, intransigent and distant father he had been to Dick. _"Look how that end for both of you,"_ Bad, Dick hadn’t talked to him in a year and Bruce hadn’t called either. Probably, it was worst that he, as the father, hadn’t called but the guilt stopped him from doing it.

He had planned to call him uncountable times. Many nights after patrol, Bruce had stared to the phone in his studio. He could have called him and had a heart to heart chat with his eldest and no one else would know. Alfred and Jason would be sleeping, but then again, it was so hard.

Jason walked jumping in excitement, happy and laughing and full of life, just as Dick used to. The awed look on Jason’s eyes, swollen his chest with endearment but it also reminded him that Dick used to look at him with adoration in his eyes. He used to, it was in the past, the past Bruce took for granted.

"Kid," Bruce covered half of his face with one hand. He had wondered if the unstoppable, haunting emotions were caused by his post middle life crisis until. Eventually, the reality had been too evident for him to ignore it.

Jason was happy with him and Dick had been happy too. And Bruce had lied to himself for a long time, blaming Dick as an ungrateful brat for the reason that caused Dick to be miserable with him. Obviously, arrogant younger Bruce thought the kid—the twelve years old orphan child—that he took in, who didn’t know anything about the world and had been left with nothing, alone in a strange city, the kid was the one to blame. Of course, Bruce, he was the bad one in this story. 

"Monster," it was the nicest word to describe himself. Days like these, Bruce couldn’t hold back the tears falling from his eyes. The nostalgia hit him harder the days in which the guilt was too much to bear.

Just two nights ago, Jason had taken a hit right straight to his ribs. The small kid—and yet not even as small as Dick was that time Two-Face shattered his bones in pieces—stood in the Manor resting, Leslie recommended him no high school for him for two weeks. And other kids would have been happy but Jason wasn’t, he liked school and learning, he was enthusiastic to take advantage of all the extra classes he got in Gotham Academy and public schools didn’t have. He even had a private tutor for Russian, he wanted to read the books in the original language. 

Bruce was so, so lucky, he had two sons that were actively responsible and interested in learning. Not even once he had to ask neither of them to do their homework or train. He remembered he had to ask Dick to take it easier and have free days. Both Jason and Dick made it simple for him to be a father, but he had taken Dick for granted and now he was doing his best to not do the same with Jason. Yet, it didn’t make him feel any better. 

"What kind of ungrateful son didn’t call his adoptive father?" People asked behind Bruce’s back. "Why the first Robin was such an asshole?" Jason asked with a pout on his face. Jason, as Dick used to, was on Bruce’s side. Every time the other Justice League members called Batman impossible to work with, his little Robin stood up for him.

"You guys don’t understand him, you gotta be patient," he overheard Dick told Clark and Barry, "he just wants to do the right thing, that’s who he is at his core, he truly cares for everyone’s safety." His first Robin had been so eloquent and mature for his age. He had never been a kid really, he was an ancient soul in a kid’s body. He could have had it all, only if Bruce hadn’t been selfish. In the aftermath of his breakup with Clark, he had begged him to have half custody of Dick. It was a good idea, Clark was a good man, he could have had offered Dick guidance that Bruce couldn’t. 

Pride won, Bruce reduced Dick’s hours working outside Gotham with the Titans and kept him away from the Justice League. It was a vendetta against Clark, who had been nothing but an excellent romantic partner. Another person Bruce had taken for granted. 

It was all his fault, his ego had been his own worse energy, worst than the Joker could ever be. He had destroyed all the good he had in his life and apparently, he hadn’t had enough, he had to take Jason under his wing, instead of searching a good family to adopt him.

Selfish, greedy. Any family would have been pleased to have such a good kid like Jason. For God’s sake! Diana had volunteered to take Dick with her since he and Donna saw each other as siblings. And then Clark had offered to help him. All Bruce could how that one day, Heaven forgave him for his wrongdoings as God knew that he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for the damage he had done to his loved ones.

The phone rang, Jason’s number on the screen. He picked up the phone quickly, _"_ _you didn’t answer Dick’s calls,"_ his brain reminded him. No, he was a bastard, obsessed with fighting crime and keeping his family company thriving, he thought Dick didn’t mind to wait but did he? Bruce never asked him if he cared.

"Hi, kiddo!" Bruce greeted him.

"Bruce!!" Jason replied enthusiastically on the other line, "are you coming home for dinner? Alfred wants to know and me too, you promised we’ll watch movies tonight." 

Bruce smiled, Jason considered the Manor his _home_ , he must have been doing something good and he was determined to not destroy what they had. "Dinner and movies, I remember but do you remember my one condition for you?"

"Go to sleep early and let my broken ribs to heal, blah blah blah, I don’t like, you need a Robin in patrol," Jason sounded adorable when he was annoyed.

"Batgirl would be with me and if I need extra help, the League is far more than capable, so my condition stays, are we clear, son?" 

"Yeah, yeah, old man," Jason replied reluctantly

"Good, see you in an hour," Bruce said and Jason probably thought that Bruce had hung up as Bruce heard him telling Alfred "grumpy Bat is coming home, I told you!"

 _Do not disappoint him, Wayne,_ Bruce made a mental note. And in his imagination, behind him, there was a small Dick Grayson, patting his back, grinning proudly. 

The ride back to the Manor was uneventful, just the usual heavy traffic after working hours were over. Bruce like driving, it cleared his mind and for a moment, he felt less disgusting that the moated he was and closer to be a real person. 

Nothing distracted him, nothing but the weight of his cellphone in his pocket. Should he call him? What would he even say? _Hello, it’s me, your adoptive father that called you an incompetent in a job you do better than the metahumans, the same one who kicked you out for and asked for your keys. How are you doing? Would you like to come home? I still have your keys.  
_

Bruce slowed down, he needed more time before arriving. Jason couldn’t see him like this. What he knew about fathers was much, but he had learnt through others that fathers were supposed to be solid figures, someone you could always count on, someone like Alfred, which made sense, Alfred was like a father to him.

Twenty minutes and he finally saw the Manor in the distance, becoming bigger in his view as he got closer. His eyes were clear, no more tears and he had fixed his hair. He looked fine, just like the solid paternal figure he aspired to be.

In front of the main door, Jason was already waiting for him. It was a tradition between them, Jason had initiated it and Bruce relished each minute of his bright boy running to him to greet him. 

Jason, his precious son, was happy to see him. And Bruce hurried to get out of the car and receive him with open, wide arms. Only that he had forgotten that the keys he had taken with him today, there were _his_ keys. They were painted in blue, his favourite colour and had the R letter drawn in red for Robin or Richard, depending on who asked what it meant.

Bruce felt his air leaving his lungs with the memory, the heaviness in his chest barely allowed him to breathe. Though the strong embrace of Jason eased his sorrow. 

"You are home," Jason buried his head on Bruce’s chest. 

"Sure I am, son," another new rule Bruce had, he referred as Jason as his son, it was reassurance for both. Jason would be sure that Bruce would return him to the streets and Bruce need to call him his son. He didn't want his second son to think what Dick thought, he didn’t want to hear Jason said what Dick said to him.

" _You don’t care for me, you see me as one your tools, worthless if they don’t work as you wanted them to, I might as well have an expiration date, right?" Dick was crying, spilling blood from his nose, a thug went too hard on him that night. Dick had been shaking even when after taking a shower, something scared him but Bruce didn’t ask, all Bruce cared was—did he even care for someone at all?  
_

_"Stop crying, don’t let emotions cloud your mind," Bruce dismissed him with a waving hand and from the corner of his eyes, he saw Dick’s face turned into something sour. The face of an old broken man that didn’t belong on his seventeen years old son.  
_

_"Yes, sir," Dick said with a soft voice, it was a whisper in the vastness of the cave. Bruce gave him his back and returned to his work. There was a report to write and the report seemed to be more important than making feel his son better.  
_

_"_ Dad, are you okay?" Jason asked him.

"Yes, I..." Bruce felt all the blood of his body go down to his legs as he saw Jason wearing one of Dick’s red hoodies. 

"Where did you find that hoodie?" Bruce pointed out to the bright red cloth. Dick used to wear it along with a pair of dark green jeans and a pair of yellow converse—he was a natural Robin outside patrol—he looked like a Christmas’ gift, Bruce’s Christmas gift that lighted up Bruce’s world since the first day he welcomed him into his life.

"In Dick’s room. I took some books too, Alfred said it was fine, was it, dad?" Jason used his version of sad, puppy eyes. Dick used that trick too, though Dick convinced him with puppy eyes that made him look adorable. And Jason, Jason looked sad as an abandoned puppy who had been alone since he had been born and all Bruce wanted to was to wrap him in a blanket and never let him go.

"No problem, let’s go inside," Bruce passed an arm around Jason’s shoulders and led them inside. 

Was it a sign? He wondered as Jason and he are in comfortable silence. Lately, all reminded him to Dick, he was like a broken record that repeated the same old song, but it was a joyful, loving son because the song was Dick Grayson, his beloved son. 

"Dad, you are doing it again," Jason said as he poked his hand with his fingers. 

"My bad," Bruce returned to the land of the living and continued eating. 

Nome of this was Jason’s fault, his younger son deserved better. _"Do not make the same mistakes again, Bruce Wayne,”_ Dick’s voice inside his head said and Bruce did as he was told. He smiled and asked Jason how his day had been and if he had read any new books, then he paid close attention to what Jason was saying.

After dinner, they watched movies, the ones that Jason had chosen. And Bruce did what Dick used to ask him—the things he failed to do most of the time—he turned off his phone—no Wayne Enterprises calls to interrupt them—he cuddled Jay and let him ate greasy popcorn on the couch. 

Bruce enjoyed the movie and spending time together with Jason but there was something wrong. His instincts were talking to him, something was wrong. 

_”Was it Gotham?”_ No, that was Batman trying to interrupt his time with his son.

 _Was it the company?_ No, he had double-checked all the recent deals. They were doing good. 

_Was it Jason?_ No, Jason was happy, at least, he looked happy and healthier than ever. 

"Son, it’s almost midnight," Bruce addressed Jason with a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. "Do you remember what that means?"

"Sure, dad, you are going on patrol and I wait for you watching movies," Jason replied with a devilish grin on his face. The kid was confident he was going to get his way.

"No, it means you are going to bed now, Jason Peter Todd Wayne," Bruce did his best stern father’s face. It used to work on Dick, it didn’t cause much of an effect on Jason. The thought made him sad, Dick didn’t have to say it for Bruce to know. The last years living under the same roof were complex and Dick started fearing Bruce’s rage, he obeyed him out of fear, just like the criminals in the street did. 

_"Monster, you are a monster."_ He would be better this time, more gentle. "One more movie but don’t wait for me and that’s order, Robin," Bruce ruffled Jason’s hair and kissed the crown of his head. 

Then he went to the cave to check on the current case files he had. Only three were on high priority but there hadn’t been any recent clues this week. The crime in Gotham was giving him a headache; there were multiple crimes, though there were all committed by disorganized criminals. Where had the mafia gone? It was clear they were planning something under the water, but what exactly? 

The cases were dense, human trafficking and child prostitution case types that Bruce didn’t want Jason to see. To be honest, the kid had seen what the world was made of as he grew up in a problematic environment, Crime Alley courtesy. Nevertheless, Bruce was his father now and it was his responsibility to keep the boy far from the nastier criminals and unspeakable cases. Exactly what he failed to do with—if he could get a second chance with Dick and begin from the start, all the things he would change.

All things he couldn’t change as the past was past and it was lost in memories. What he had now, the second blessing he had received, all the opportunities and moments he had yet to live with Jason, it was all worthy for him to try to be better. So no, his younger Robin wouldn’t interact with these cases.

Time went by and the clock announced it was three in the morning. Gordon didn’t summon Batman and no alarms sounded, it was a rare night in Gotham. It was an anomaly that Bruce was glad to take, this way he could go back upstairs before sunrise, get some sleep and have a late breakfast with Jason.

Before calling it a night, Bruce organized his desk and wrote a short report on the nothingness that happened that night.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed as the first time the alarm sounded. He checked the security system on the batcomputer, it was coming from one of his safe houses in Detroit.

_"That’s the city in which he lives...”_

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. If Dick was trying to break into what one of his safe houses, it could only mean that his eldest son was in danger or didn’t feel safe where he was living. 

A few clicks and two security codes typed and Bruce had a full view of Dick, who was standing in front of the main door, shaking a bit with his right hand covering a wound. Bruce’s eyes were trained to recognize wounds even in the distance, it was a gunshot wound and he had another one on his back, dripping blood from a place Dick couldn’t reach to contain. 

"Dick, hurry up," his son couldn’t hear him but Bruce was cheering for him. All he had to do was to push the buttons with the right code and the system would scan his eyes. It was a simple method—

Wait. The system wouldn’t recognize him as Dick’s data wasn’t registered anymore.

"Access denied," the confirmation left Dick confused. His son didn’t know, he didn’t tell him, he didn’t call. How could his son know? The moment Jason became Robin, Bruce updated the system, replacing Dick’s data with Jason’s. He told himself that he would come back later and made another profile under the name of Dick Grayson, available for his ex-Robin to use. 

The wishful thinking was left in the air, he forgot to do it. No, no, he was lying to himself again. He didn’t forget, he did it in purpose. He had been mad at Dick and had blamed him for everything that went wrong, he made Dick the villain of their story and sentenced him to the exile.

Although Dick left, it had been Bruce who gave him no other option when he asked for the keys, as is Dick were an employee he wanted to fire and ban from his company.

_"Nothing but a tool, that’s what I was to you, right dad?"_

"No, son—" did he had the right to call him his son? Bruce had wanted to see Dick’s face of shock, realizing he wasn’t in the system anymore. He had wanted to be there and tell him that his actions had consequences. How quickly life turned upside down, Bruce was the one paying for his actions. He wanted to punish Dick, but his idea of punishment didn’t include his son bleeding, miles away from him, looking wrecked and betrayed by the denial of access to a place he had every right to enter in.

"No, no, no," his son said on the other side. He was bleeding and crying and Bruce couldn’t take it anymore. He began updating the system as fast as it was possible—not fast enough—and as his fingers rushed to rewrite the codes and recovered Dick’s data, he tried so hard not to panic because the truth was that he wouldn’t be fast enough to give Dick access, not if the purpose was to save his life. 

"WHY?" His kid screamed to him, staring at the camera, but all Bruce could see was the pool of blood, increasing around Dick’s body. 

"Update process, 50%," the system said to Bruce in a mechanic voice that held no sympathy for the poor excuse of father that he was.

"Bruce, please," his son begged. His son thought he had to beg Bruce to save his life. His son thought—he thought that Bruce was doing in purpose, enjoying the bloody view of his slow death.

"Richard, no, it’s—" the microphone was failing to connect with the system of the safe house. No, this was terrible luck, if the system of the safe house wasn’t working well either, then he would have to restart it again. Time, not enough time, he was wasting all the time and he was losing his son second by second. 

With clumsy fingers, Bruce restarted the system of the safe house as he waited for the main data bank to update its data in all the bat devices. 

"Process finished, Richard John Grayson Wayne Information Added," Bruce could half breathe again. He wouldn’t rest until he knew Dick was resting in a hospital bed, attended by the best doctors. 

"Chicago 001 Safe House — System Updated," that was all they needed. Bruce saw Dick’s face lighted up as he saw another opportunity for the code to work.

It didn’t work. The system failed as he failed Dick. The alarm sounded for a second time, calling Dick an intruder. He could try one more time, restart the system again but it was too late for that, Dick was—he was having a breakdown, how much blood the poor boy had left? 

Only one choice left. Bruce and Clark had fought lately, working with your ex-boyfriend had proved to be complicated. But Clark wasn’t like Selina or Talia, Clark had moved on and he was now happy living with Louis Lane. He wasn’t dying to get his attention or fighting to get him back. He was gone, just like Dick. 

"Dick can’t die, my boy can’t die," Bruce typed Clark’s phone for Justice League’s emergencies and the alien answered after two rings.

"Batman," Clark said, loud noise on the background that distorted his voice.

"Address sent, go now, it’s Dick, Clark," Bruce had no strength left to pretend he wasn’t crying. Who was he trying to fool? He loved the kid and he was dying.

"On my way," Clark said, flying through the sky. "What happened?" The inquiry was fair, though for Bruce it sounded a lot like Clark telling him once again that he was a bastard and undeserving of Dick Grayson. 

Bruce sighed as he watched his son crying, asking for his dad, begging for his dad to open the damn door, begging his dad to save him. He had to take a deep breathe to recovery the ability to speak. "He’s bleeding, he was shot, take him to the hospital."

"Why was he shot? What happened, Bruce? And don’t you dare to tell me it’s classified," Clark huffed, expecting the worse from him and then was no one to blame for that but himself. He had earned it with his harsh words and past actions. 

"He loves you, you know that?" Bruce said.

"I know, I love him too," Clark hanged on him. 

"Clark?" No answer, there was no one on the other side of the call. It didn’t matter, he would survive Clark’s hate but he would not survive the death of one of his sons. Not Dick, not Jason, they had to live. 

Bruce didn’t move from his seat. If he couldn’t be there to hold his son and tell him that he was going to be okay, then he would keep him unknown company in the distance. If his son was suffering and if he couldn’t do anything to alleviate him from the pain, then he would suffer with him. 

"Dad," Dick said, staring at the camera with hooded eyes, reddish from crying, as he tried to reach for him with his hand, but his body was giving up, he barely moved. 

"Son," Bruce said as the strong figure of Superman stormed within the range of the camera vision. 

"He’s there," Clark took Dick on his arms, carefully, so gentle, knowing well how precious that man was.

And as they flew away, Bruce felt the tiredness of the post adrenaline effect, threatening him with sleep, which was a rest he couldn’t allow himself to have. He had to move promptly, there was so much to do. He had to check in which hospital Dick had been admitted to, and then he would get there as soon as possible to explain to his son what had happened. He had to tell Dick that it was a big mistake, that he hadn’t stood watching him bleed as he cheered for his death. 

His son couldn’t die believing that his dad had sentenced him to die. 

"Hey, Dad, what’s wrong?" Jason’s voice echoed in the empty cave as Bruce put himself back together. 

_"It’s not Jason’s fault, don’t take it out on him as you did with me,"_ the childish voice of Dick Grayson spoke to him inside his head. _"Be better, Bruce."_

"We are going to Detroit."

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: What happened to Dick? Batfam reunion?


End file.
